Epilogue
by TheBattyWhiteCrow
Summary: Laeti Mahariel, the Hero of Fereldon has returned from the dead after the defeat of the archdemon. When her companions are scattered, she must recollect them from their miserable ever afters into one last battle for the fate of the world. But when the only one who can see Laeti is unwilling to help, how can she reunite with the man she loves? Fenris x F Hawke. Zevran x F Mahariel
1. The Madness Returns

"You don't belong here, Shemlen." The Dalish guard stood before her, perhaps he would have been more of an intimidating sight if he wasn't wearing light armor with a skirt on the end. It really didn't matter how fearsome a man was, how impressive his skill with a weapon. In the end, he was still wearing a skirt.

"What about my..." The woman before the Dalish guard slowly turned her head to each side, mocking shock. "Dear Maker! Where did my self righteousness and pointy ears go?" Bri's eyes flashed with annoyance, a sense of rage seemingly just below the surface. Her body was clad in the armor of a nearby assassin's guild, the one that had purchased her enterance into Kirkwall. She wore it with pride, a large sword embellished with the crest of the guild on the hilt, shimmering with well taken care.

Here, unlike in Kirkwall, it bore little weight.

"Why, you.. You.. Shemlen!" The Dalish hunter stuttered, moving his hands as if this one word was in itself a terrible utterance. Bri raised an eyebrow shortly, rolling her muddied eyes with a scoff. "How articulate. Step aside, little boy, we adults have buisness to attend to." Bri moved to step aorund the man, who shot her a glare and moved into her way.

Giving a sigh, Bri flicked her unevenly chopped black hair out of her face with a challenging grin, sadistic to the edges, and merciless to the eye. "Ooh, so you want to do it the HARD way, eh? You should know, killing people is my expertise. I would so ENJOY taking you and your homeless, stinking species out with you on my way up that DAMNABLE MOUNTAIN TOP."

The Dalish glared furiously, his own mop of black hair shaking at the movement as he drew dual blades from his back. Bri gave a wicked sort of grin, stepping a bit closer as she trailed her fingertips on her duel handed blade upon her back.

"Hawke.." Varric's voice rang with warning, disapproval, and annoyance.

Bri gave a near silently disappointed sigh, releasing her fingertips from the hilt of the blade with a pointed look at the Dalish guard. Holding up her hands as a show of peace, fingers spread, the Dalish slowly put away his own weapons, stepping aside to allow enterance into the Dalish clan. She supposed it had a name, but who cared about it, really?

As they strode through the makeshift camp that consisted of strange and temperary buildings that were forced to be painfully perminant. Bri glanced from the hostile, short and elven faces to the dwarf at her side scornfully.

"You always ruin my fun." She scolded.

"That's what I'm here for, Hawke." Varric smirked back.

Even for bitter Bri, he was a likable man. Cunning and witty, his mind was ever turning, and forever seemed to be cooking up SOME odd story to tell the others in the Hanged Man. So often she stood in the doorway, not quite entering, not quite leaving as she took in the tales he spun.

She'd always wished she could be anything like he portrayed her to be.

Bri'd demanded he'd stop. It wouldn't do to wish for the impossible things in life.

"Is there something you want, Anders?" Fenris growled to the ever so smug looking mage to his side as he followed after Bri, turning his eyes to the ever free Dalish. Most of them shot glares back at Fenris, save for two women, one of which, barefoot and small, tiny and frail. The other was scarred, one eye blind with a mad slash down her features, the other watched him with eerie interest.

Her black hair was tied back in ties of leather, noticing his glance her way, she gave a sly sort of wink, chuckling beneath her breath.

"You really don't have the temperment for a slave, you know." Anders explained, smirking to Fenris slightly, unobservant to the black haired woman that watched the group so carefully, as if terrified to give into the hope that bubbled up at their enterance.

But terrified not to.

"Is that a compliment or an insult, mage?" Fenris growled in response, if the mage wanted to make him believe all mages were different, that the temptation of power was not imminent in every mage. This was not the way to go.

"I'm just wondering how your master didn't kill you." Anders replied shortly, turning his attention to the eyes of the Dalish as they strode through the camp. Bri was stopped, and briefly spoken to by the Keeper, he'd heard of those, he'd done a lot of reading in his time in circle. However brief it was.

"How have the templars not killed you?" Fenris snapped back, turning his head from the back of Bri, towards the woman with the strange eyes.

She was gone.

"I'm charming." Anders laughed to himself, enjoying antagonising Fenris for his many quips against himself and mages altogether.

Fenris shot Anders a glare, openning his mouth to argue that slaves under the oppression of power crazed mages didn't tend to have charm to them. Or, perhaps, that Anders was charming enough, unable to get any to desire his company in the slightest.

"Both of you, shut your faces before I SEW your LIPS shut!" Bri glared with a spin, dangerous in every sense of the word. Holding out a warning finger, she growled between her teeth as she spoke further. "And you both know I'll do it."

"Hawke..." Varric gave an exhausted sigh, rubbing his head. "This isn't how you're supposed to play nice."

"Oh hush, it worked, didn't it?" Bri argued back, but, she conceeded.

Though, no one was truly certain if she didn't make true on her threats due to a lack of bickering, or a lack of vengence.

As it turned out, Merrill, the bootless, blood mage, dalish outcast would accompany the party up the mountain top, whether they liked it or not.

Regardless, she was the only one to know the ritual, something that finally came in handy, after dealing with misaimed spells all the way up the damnable mountain. Lying the amulet on the pedestal, Bri boredly looked away, disinterested in the ritual. In truth, she wouldn't have bothered even taking the amulet had she known that it would have made such a big deal.

Truly, it would end here.

Oh she'd hunt down that witch dragon and give her a piece of her mind.

A flash of light lifted from the amulet as it's casing was cracked from the force. Shadowy smoke lifted into the open air, forming the silohette of a woman, hovering just slightly above the pedestal. The black gave depth, defining her features to that of a beautiful woman.

Color spread through her skin, turning her long hair to a brilliant shade of red, elven ears poking through the silken strands. Oh lovely, another elf. It wasn't like all of THOSE she'd met were all uptight and broody. No tattoes covered her skin, though a gold earring pieced her left ear tip, hanging as a hoop in beautiful simplicity. Driplets of blood hung from it, as if it were newly pierced.

Her armor was of Dalish make, boots of Antivan. Weight took her once more, and with a light bounce, the woman stood upon the pedestal, her hands upon her hips a moment, speaking with someone not apparent for an instant. "Landsmeet? Damn it Zevran, how is it you always involve me in all the.. boring.. diplomatics.. of this country..?" She stopped, noting the world around her with a slow look, or rather, the absence of the man she spoke to.

The woman's eyes flickered back and forth a moment, surveying her surroundings in quiet contemplation. "Well," She started, voice smooth and sweet. "Don't I feel like I've missed something.."

Looking down, the woman cracked a likable sort of grin, cocking her head as if admitting to something. "Oh, it's damn lucky Zevran isn't here. He'd get a kick out of me standing on a pedistal. I'd never live it down."


	2. The Bottle Of The Untold

-Bri Hawke-

The glass bottle clinked softly beneath her armored finger tips, the harsh metal of her gauntlets more then a match for its thin and decorative make, silly, really, to make anything so fragile, Bri reflected, her steps echoing through the night. Varric claimed that vintage was a good one, apparently something that many favored in their habits of drink. In truth, Bri never drank, not since the one night when out of interest, she'd stolen liquor from the nearby inn in Lothering. Bri had gotten caught stumbling over her own feet in the neighbor's barn by Carver, who made her swear to forever more never to so much as sip alcohol, lest he'd have to cover for her again.

The entire night was somewhat of a blur, but it was fond one, none the less, Carver had attempted to lead Bri back to the house, lest their observant mother note her absence. At the time, he'd claimed that all she had to do was act as though she was resting, the hour was late, and if she didn't speak, her midnight crimes would likely be missed.

Perhaps it would have worked, had Bethany not noted their absence, particularly Bri's, and alerted their mother. Who stood just inside the door, like a creature lying in wait for its prey, though, in that case, it had been a rather musically inspired Bri, flushed in the face, and tripping over her feet less then a pace into the door, thus proving quite the point of her drunkness.

Well, at least she took down that family heirloom vase with her on her fall.

It was such an ugly little thing.

Sighing softly, Bri's breath twisted and wrapped around itself as it rose in hot steams that clung to the air desperately. Oh, she missed Carver. He was brave, and loyal, with a mind that painted itself with the reality of the world. She knew for an absolute fact he would have teased her for what she was about to do, mocked her with humour, as she would have done to him.

Her abrasive nature wasn't as it was to others as it was to him. To him, it gave her a fault, something that marked her less then the impressive older sister that he could never live up to. Gave him the opportunity to step from her shoulder, to shine in the light of his own actions and to strike his own path for his own idea of a world worth living.

He would have had quite the impact on Thedas, without a doubt, but, as any good legend would prove, eighteen years was simply not enough time.

Carver and Bri had always connected in such a manner, him, realising and accepting that she was something of a human just as he was, just as anyone was, and as such, her faults were clear. And her, noting his insecurities, soothing his worries and training beside him as he spread his knowledge of the sword to herself to prove himself better then her in any front available.

Unfortunatly for him, she was a mighty competative woman, and as such, had taken to sword play quite quickly, besting him before the month was done.

Bri stopped where she stood, her footsteps carrying a harsh edge to them at the sudden stop, the sounds echoing through the deserted portion of Hightown. Closing her eyes, Bri pinched the bridge of her nose with her gauntlet fingers, shaking her head to clear her thoughts.

It would not do well to dote upon the dead, as such, her mind needed a bit of discipline on the matter. She would take no further step until her dead brother's ghost had left her thoughts, his voice had left her ear, and his familiarity didn't touch her skin.

Bri Hawke knew she would be waiting a very long time.

-Fenris-

His last bottle of wine was held in his hand, or rather, Fenris thought bitterly, lounging back in the ripped and bloodstained chair beneath him, the last of the Agreggio at least. A rather good make, he was told, Varric continued on about its vintage and rarity, and while Fenris supposed that was true, it really only mattered that it had the stunning ability to wipe his mind clean after only a few drinks of short volume.

Drunk, he didn't have to care about Danarius, his name didn't appear in his mind in the slightest in fact, something that was well past due, that man deserved only to have his heart ripped from his chest, and not a moment more of his time. To allow that man, to know that that man was the one who put the hate in him, to helplessly watch it consume him.. Well, it was more then he could take.

So he turned to drink.

When the adventure was done, when the friends departed, and the night fell upon Kirkwall once more, he drank.

The building stank, blood stains from long ago fighting splattered the walls and crept into the flooring, disinviting any guests with a rather colorful attack upon the senses. Merrill, for one, had long ago come to his doorstep upon discovering that Fenris lived in Hightown (The fault of Anders, no doubt) with a muffin basket and a warm smile.

She had no doubt been under the impression that something so trivial, so meaningless would increase his opinion of her, perhaps even respect her decisions to a certain degree.

The delusions of a mad mage.

And he'd had more then his fair share of those, Fenris thought to himself cruelly as he took a deeper swig of the bottle in hand.

Abominations.

-Bri Hawke-

Her muscles ached, which was a rather rare thing indeed. Bri had lost track of the time, stopped counting her breaths to keep it, stopped noting the occasional person passing her by in their typical buisness. The sun peeked from the short and stout buildings that it rimmed, dancing over the water in a beautiful shimmer.

Such a shame that it had to illuminate such sin and misery with such a striking beauty, Bri thought to herself a moment, turning the bottle in hand, careful to keep her gauntlets from such a tight grip that the metal would scratch the delicate thing. How fragile, she mused, turning the neck of the bottle in hand, just as human bones are, her mind finished dangerously, illuminating it's point with the sickening crack that Bri had heard when the ogre had flung Carver into the rocky boulder.

Bri swallowed, strode forwards, and rapped her metal knuckles upon the wooden frame of the door, chips of the ill treated wood came off, bringing a tired sigh to her lips.

One breath, well, of course, he wasn't going to be standing by the door.

Two breaths, was that her heartbeat? Please, she'd faced wild ogres by the dozen, this elf wasn't even capable of picking her UP, much less harm her!

Three breaths, perhaps the hour was too late?

Four breaths, that was precisely it.

Five breaths, well, in that case, perhaps the bottle should find itself to stay upon his doorstep for his notice in the morning, after he woke?

Six breaths, it seemed a bit childish.

Seven breaths, then again, so did standing outside the building until he actually DID wake.

Eight breaths, well, suppose it's for the best then, that spot looks well enough to set it.

Nine breaths, besides, what impression would he have gotten if he'd opened the door? A pathetic woman upon his doorstep with the mad need to explain her short temper for the day just hours before? Some weak little-

The door was pulled open, revealing the thin elven frame of Fenris, his white hair falling into his handsome features and framing his elven heritage pointedly. "Hawke." He state shortly, in a low tone that he had only for her.

Bordering on dislike, and respect.

"Like I've told you many times, I've got a first name. It's Bri. Three years, and you still call me Hawke." Bri sighed inwardly, how the hell was she supposed to explain herself?

Better yet, why the hell SHOULD she, when she was treated in such a manner?

"It's not on accident, Hawke." Fenris stated once again in that low tone, dislike coloring it as well as hemmed with a touch of respect. But, perhaps she was merely mishearing him, perhaps he simply disliked her.

He certainly wouldn't be the first.

"Quite the charmer, you are. I'm surprised you haven't got a hoard of whores in that filthy mansion of yours." Bri growled, thrusting the bottle into his hand, her metal gauntlets nearly shattering the delicate glass as her hands clentched in anger. Very well, she was fine with being disliked, turning upon her heel, her short black hair whipped out of her way as she strode, bristling with anger.

"It's that day, isn't it?" Fenris spoke after her, his voice not rising, knowing that she'd hear him on such a phrase from almost any distance.

Bri blinked a moment, freezing midstep, skimming through her mind how he could have known. Bethany, perhaps, had spoken to him on that matter? No, Bri kept her personal life, and thus family matters in Gamlen's house, under no circumstances allowing Bethany to follow her on her matters.

She didn't have the patience to be the goddess that Bethany thought was her duty as the eldest.

Gamlen had a big mouth, and a wicked tongue, but the chances of him having met her companions was rather low, perhaps he had met Varric in that low life tavern, but still, he didn't know the story, not the whole one.

Leandra, Bri's bones chilled at the thought of her, she hated that woman. The woman that blamed her for Carver's death, the woman responsible for Carver's death, blamed HER. The woman that stood to the side, watching as her son was ripped from her, looked up, and blamed Bri.

Carver had died for her.

She'd killed Carver, but she blamed Bri, her watching eyes never leaving her with that fake love, that sharp edge to the end of her words never ended. Her words were poison, in any shape they took. Leandra despised Bri, she blamed her. Perhaps if she had moved faster, been stronger, she could have saved Carver.

Perhaps Bri blamed herself as well.

Leandra may have told him. It seemed the type of thing she would do to stir up trouble, to take Carver's death, and twist it into a sob story for the world to hear.

As if it didn't have enough of those.

"And, what day is that?" Bri allowed, inclining her head back towards the man in the doorway, his hand wrapped around the bottle.

"Every year, on this precise date, you get worse. It starts the month before, and gets steadily worse until today. Today's when you snap, and hurt, and insult the most, and then, when someone expects a beast to come out of you," Fenris snapped his fingers with a solid click, "You disappear."

"Maybe I'm just bitter." Bri retorted, turning towards him and crossing her arms. Eyes shining with untold tales in the rising sunlight, illuminating her misery, as well as her strength.

A complicated woman, to say the least.

Fenris scoffed, shaking his head as he bounced the bottle in hand, as if weighing it absently. "One thing I've learned about you, Hawke, you're not 'just' anything."

Opening the door with a gauntletted hand, Fenris gave a wave to Bri as he turned his back to her, bottle in his other hand as if he held a precious thing.

"Come, join me for a drink, Hawke."


End file.
